Ghosts in the Dark

The faces, screams, pain and gripping fear I have witnessed when I wore the badge and emotionlessly slid into a bag are so vivid at times as to haunt my thoughts when the light slides under my feet and darkness blankets my body and fills my eyes. Thumps in the night are not ghosts or demons but mangled bodies from the past delivered by darkness untold for me to embrace and view them again. My futile attempts to flex muscle against unseen forces have reached their end. I now fear reality as the thoughts of yesterday cripple my today. I have entered the wormhole and no pill or soothsayer can cloak that which has been revealed. I am thankful my once soulless eyes have been forced to see the depth of man’s weakness but there are times I wish I could taste imitation again. To be able to close my eyes to the barbarians at my gate and live again in wonderment in lieu of unshakable death is tempting as if it is even feasible. Alas, there is no Disneyland but only foggy voids of despair, emptiness, dread and hollowness by which I breathe. My hands and feet desperately clamber for a familiar point of contact only to find they are all shifting pixels of odd beauty pulling my energy but returning no favors. I have spent my life hiking an open path of choices with a magnificent singularity in view. I have reached this earthly Nirvana, tasted its deception, felt her nakedness and consumed her lust; I violently shake as I awake to the backside of the façade. The other side of the moon is nothing but dark, cold, and lifeless and man’s childhood dreams have been revealed as sterile and unfruitful.

We reside among devils. I now see them as they fly into our lungs, run through our veins and camp in our brains. God’s creation willingly ignores our condition because we do not wish to be healed; did I want to be healed? I wonder, had I known the day was coming when I was told there was no Santa might I have stayed in bed or scampered down the rabbit hole? Alas, mortality forges on because she believes that bag of diamonds and vault of gold is more than shiny stones; “It must be purpose!” But the black velvet bag is empty and the vault is hollow. We have no hope, we wallow in misery, why do we embrace meaninglessness and prefer not to look behind the curtain of Oz. Oh that Toto would have been crushed in the storm, burned to death by the broom or consumed by the flying carnivores. Instead, he, in his smug, cute, furry coat survived the war to expose a fake, no different than I, who resided on the dark side of the moon. I have no ruby slippers and the sorceress’ wand has been shattered and I daily float over the great abyss and tremble. Hovering past the wall and looking back the solid ground on which I played is but a shaved apple skin rotting from below. The world frolics ignoring friends who drop beneath and despises those who have pierced the atom never to return. All of humanity is content in their snow globe and I, and I, well I am here and I cannot be there. Christ is the Author of it all, and He and His Kingdom are all that ultimately exists, and one day that dimension will be my rest but not today. Today I forage for scraps of justice, love and peace to find deception, sorrow, and anguish in the dead that walk about in this stagnate pool of disease as they embrace every slimy sip. I beat my head against the wall in a futile attempt at the impossible as I have no power, no authority and no strength against the impenetrable darkness that is man. Christ and Christ alone has conquered the impossible, nay, the improbable with His drips of sacrificial blood on Calvary. Oh that the upright rotting corpses could witness the grandeur of Truth. I plea before the righteous Judge for their eternity but only a finger is offered and it is Christ pointing to the freewill of mankind to remain empty or accept His filling. We are loved but rarely consume its sweetness choosing to immerse ourselves in the cesspool of rot. Why?